Chapter Five
HELENA
“What?”
“Halden security diligence.”
I look at the page. A vendor name. Dates. Hours.
A total low enough that no finance department would question it and high enough that somebody spent real time. The first charge predates the acquisition by twenty-six days. I read the date twice.
“We weren’t under contract then.”
“No.”
“When was the initial offer?”
“Seventeen days later.”
I look up.
“Who ordered this?”
“Owen’s department.”
I pick up the phone. Tessa puts one hand on it before I can call. The gesture is so unexpected that I look at her fingers. Then her face.
“Talk to me first.”
“You just brought me the invoice.”
“I brought you the invoice because you told me to flag anything that doesn’t match your instructions.”
“It doesn’t.”
“I know.”
“Then remove your hand.”
She does. I do not pick up the phone. Tessa takes the chair across from me.
“You asked Owen to background Caleb after the hearing.”
“Yes.”
“You asked for standard diligence.”
“Yes.”
“You did not ask for physical surveillance.”
“No.”
“You did later authorize public-source monitoring.”
My mouth tightens.
“Yes.”
“And the building?”
“I asked acquisitions to evaluate it in June.”
“This invoice starts in May.”
I look at the date again. A memory surfaces. Owen standing in this office after I asked a question I should not have asked. Does Caleb Rowe own the studio or lease?
Owen had answered two days later with more than I requested. He has done that for years. Anticipated. Protected.
Made problems disappear before they reached me. I rewarded him for it.
“What exactly did the vendor do?”
“Invoice says site-risk assessment.”
“That can mean anything.”
“Yes.”
“I need the underlying work order.”
“Already requested.”
I stand. Tessa watches.
“I have a four o’clock.”
“With Caleb.”
“With the Halden.”
“That’s not what I said.”
I pick up my coat.
“I know.”
She stares at me.
“You two are exhausting in exactly opposite ways.”
“That sounds statistically unlikely.”
“Yet here we are.”
I am halfway to the door when she says my name. I stop.
“Don’t decide what this means before you have the work order.”
“I don’t.”
“Helena.”
I turn. She raises one eyebrow. I dislike that she can do that.
“I won’t,” I say.
It is not a promise I can guarantee. But I mean it when I leave.
***
Caleb is waiting in the Halden lobby with two coffees. He holds one out. I look at it.
“For me?”
“No. For Rosa. She likes hers black, no sugar, in cups that cost seven dollars.”
I take it.
“Thank you.”
He watches me taste it.
“Wrong?”
“No.”
“You hesitated.”
“I wasn’t sure whether accepting it would create debt.”
The joke escapes before I can stop it. Caleb’s mouth softens instead of smiling, which is somehow worse.
“It’s coffee, Helena.”
“I know.”
“Keep practicing.”
I look at the cup. Then at him. His hair is damp from the mist outside. He has changed from work clothes into dark jeans and a navy sweater, but the cuffs still carry faint dust.
“You dressed for me.”
“No. I changed because Mason spilled sealant on my shirt.”
“Less flattering.”
“Sorry to ruin the fantasy.”
Fantasy. I drink the coffee.
“Show me where the photo could have been taken.”
He studies me for one second and then turns toward the elevator. No teasing. Good. The photograph sent yesterday shows the lobby through the glass doors. We have already narrowed the angle to the opposite side of the street.
The sender’s original position is now useless. Public sidewalk. Hundreds of possible people. The problem is the timestamp. It was sent less than two minutes after Tessa and I entered.
“Who knew you were coming?” Caleb asks as the elevator climbs.
“Tessa. Legal. Building management. Security.”
“Rosa?”
“Yes.”
“Me.”
“Yes.”
“Mason knew you were inspecting.”
“How?”
“I told him.”
“That is how normal people exchange information, apparently.”
He glances at me.
“Don’t sound jealous.”
“I am not jealous of Mason.”
“Good.”
The elevator jolts. My fingers tighten around the coffee instead of the rail. Caleb notices. He does not comment.
That is worse somehow. We step out on seven. The studio is quieter than yesterday. Mason is gone. One lamp burns over the model table. Caleb opens the anonymous photograph on his laptop.
“I thought the reflection might tell us something.”
It does. Not much. A pale strip in the glass. A vertical interruption.
I enlarge the image.
“Pole.”
“Street sign.”
“Possibly.”
“We checked.”
He pulls up a photograph taken from across the street this morning. Wrong height. Wrong angle. I lean closer.
“Show me the other side of the lobby.”
He does. The photograph’s angle changes in my head. Not across the street. Diagonal.
Higher.
“There.”
I point. Caleb follows.
“The pharmacy?”
“Above it.”
“There are apartments.”
“And a service landing.”
He looks at me.
“How do you know that?”
The question has become dangerous enough that I almost laugh.
“I reviewed the adjacent parcels during acquisition.”
“Normal information?”
“Yes.”
“Look at us.”
There is a faint warmth in his voice. I turn away from it.
“We need access.”
“Already called the super. He’s meeting us downstairs.”
That catches me.
“You already reached that conclusion?”
“I reached ’higher than sidewalk.’ You found the building.”
I dislike how much satisfaction that gives me.
The apartment building across the street has a narrow service stair accessed from an alley.
The superintendent is sixty, suspicious and willing to cooperate after Caleb explains that someone may have photographed tenants without permission. Not after I explain.
Caleb. People trust him because he does not enter conversations already expecting compliance. I watch the difference. The landing window aligns almost perfectly.
But the superintendent shakes his head.
“Door’s locked from inside. Residents don’t use it. Contractors sometimes.”
“When was the last contractor?” Caleb asks.
“Couple weeks.”
“What kind?”
“Security maybe. Cable. I don’t remember.”
My phone vibrates. Owen. I step away.
“Helena.”
“I need the work order for Halden diligence.”
A pause.
“What work order?”
“Vendor invoice starting May.”
“That.”
The single word irritates me.
“Yes. That.”
“Pre-acquisition security review.”
“We had not made an offer.”
“We were discussing the asset.”
“Acquisitions was not.”
“I was.”
I go still. Caleb is speaking to the superintendent twenty feet away.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you had expressed interest.”
“In the building?”
“In Rowe.”
The stairwell seems to narrow.
“I asked for background.”
“I assessed exposure.”
“By surveilling the Halden?”
“By understanding his routine and environment.”
My mouth goes dry.
“You expanded my instruction.”
“I did my job.”
“No. You interpreted my interest as authorization.”
“Helena, you have never complained when anticipation benefited you.”
That lands because it is true. Which does not make it acceptable.
“What did the vendor collect?”
“Nothing invasive.”
“That is not an answer.”
“Entrances. Schedule patterns. Associates. Basic vulnerability assessment.”
I close my eyes. I requested a background report. I accepted information when it arrived. I did not ask enough questions about how.
Convenient distinctions are still distinctions. They are also still convenient.
“Send me everything.”
“I will.”
“Now.”
A pause.
“You’re standing with him.”
It is not a question. My eyes open.
“How do you know that?”
“Building access.”
“Whose?”
“Your corporate badge registered at Halden twenty-three minutes ago.”
Of course. Legitimate. Still, the skin along my arms turns cold.
“Stop monitoring my badge unless there’s an active security event.”
“Helena.”
“That’s an instruction.”
Silence.
“Understood.”
I end the call. Caleb is watching me. He does not ask immediately. That restraint is new.
I walk toward him.
“Owen authorized pre-acquisition security work.”
“How early?”
“Before the offer.”
“Because of the building?”
“No.”
His gaze drops from mine, and the violation reaches him before the anger does.
“Because of me.”
“Yes.”
The superintendent finds sudden interest in the lock. Caleb looks away. Not anger first. Something closer to violation.
I hate that I know the difference.
“I didn’t authorize physical surveillance,” I say.
“But you authorized something.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Background research.”
“How much?”
“Employment, finances, litigation, public activity.”
His jaw works once.
“What else?”
“I don’t know yet.”
He looks at me. There is nothing I can say that improves that sentence. His phone vibrates. He pulls it out.
I see the image before he angles the screen away. This one was taken inside the Halden. Caleb on the seventh-floor service corridor yesterday. Alone.
The angle is low, through the wired glass of the fire door. Text:
SHE KNOWS WHERE YOU ARE EVEN WHEN SHE ISN’T THERE.
For several seconds, nobody speaks. The superintendent says quietly, “That door requires a service credential after six.” Caleb raises his eyes to mine. I know what he is thinking.
Corporate security. Access. Owen. Me.
“I wasn’t there,” I say.
His expression hardens.
“I know.”
The words surprise me.
“Do you?”
“I remember where you were.”
He turns the phone back toward himself.
“And I hate that I have to know the difference.”